


Too Many Cops (or Gently vs Thursday)

by merc_cook



Category: Endeavour (TV), Inspector George Gently, Inspector Morse (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merc_cook/pseuds/merc_cook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Gently and Thursday are detectives from the 1960s – so what would happen if Durham’s finest went head-to-head with Oxford’s brightest and best? Which cop would come out on top?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Cops (or Gently vs Thursday)

**Author's Note:**

> (Thanks to Andrew Marlowe for the inspiration)  
> As you may be able to tell this was written prior to the latest series of Endeavour and its resulting change in staffing at Oxford City Police Station. And I will admit I had a bit of trouble coming up with a reason why Gently and Bacchus would be in Oxford so please excuse the thinly veiled excuse that Bright reveals at the beginning.

“Well, there you are, gentleman.” Said Chief Superintendent Bright as he made his way down the main corridor of Cowley Police Station accompanied by Gently and Bacchus while Thursday and Jakes followed dutifully behind. “I hope you feel you’ve learned something today about the way we do things here in Oxford - got something out of this inter-county co-operation scheme.”  
“Oh, absolutely, sir.” DI Gently said, in what he hoped sounded like a sincere voice. “John?”  
“Definitely.” DS Bacchus replied, making no attempt to hide his boredom, as he stared morosely around him.   
“Excellent.” Bright said, oblivious to the sergeant’s sarcasm, “Well, if that’s all there is then I think there’s nothing left but to…”  
“Sir!” PC Jim Strange pushed his way hurriedly through the doors behind them to hand a note to DI Thursday. “Call’s just come in, sir.” He said. “Young woman’s been found murdered at the offices in Cornmarket Street.” Thursday took the note and read it.  
“Thank you, Constable.” He said. Strange ducked back through the doors.  
“We’d better get on to this, sir.” Thursday said to Bright, “If you don’t mind we’ll leave you to see off our guests.”  
“Well, just a minute,” Bright said, “Why don’t you take them with you?” Thursday turned back.  
“Sir?” he said, bewildered.  
“Sir?” Gently repeated, bemused.  
“Well, why not?” Bright said, “Give them a chance to see the Oxford boys in action. Show them how it’s supposed to be done.” Thursday and Gently exchanged exasperated glances.  
“Sir.” Thursday said, heading back down the corridor, followed by DS Jakes, Gently and Bacchus and, after a beat, by Morse.

They arrived at the crime scene just as Dr De Bryn was completing his preliminary examinations. Thursday, Jakes and Bacchus headed straight over to him. Gently inspected the room. Morse stayed by the door of the office – not particularly eager to see another body.  
“What’s the story, Doc?” Thursday asked.  
“Female.” De Bryn began, “Mid-30s. Gunshot wound to the chest – medium-sized calibre bullet. Not close range but I’d wager not too far away. At a rough guess she’s been dead about than 12 hours, putting the time of death somewhere around 11pm last night.”  
“Who is she?”  
“Doctor Colette Ashton.” De Bryn replied.   
“Doctor?” Jakes repeated. “Doesn’t strike me as your average doctor.” He looked down at the body. “No white coat for a start.”  
“Well observed, Sergeant Jakes.” De Bryn said, “Doctor Ashton was a psychologist.” Jakes looked up at him.  
“One of those namby-pamby touchy-feely types?” he asked with a snigger.  
“Precisely.” De Bryn replied, clearly not agreeing with Jakes’ sentiment.  
Thursday looked all around him.  
“Morse?” he said.   
“Here.” Came a voice from behind him. He turned to see Morse pushing the office door shut and noticed as he did so the lettering that was carved angrily into the woodwork – as no doubt Morse had done. Jakes moved forward to inspect it.  
“‘You asked for this’?” he read, “Unhappy patient?”  
“Obviously someone wasn’t too pleased with the Doc’s work.” Thursday said, “If a patient’s behind this it would certainly make our job easier.”  
“Sir!” Came a call as one of the constables entered the room.   
“What is it, Constable?” Jakes asked as Thursday turned to look.  
“It’s another one, sir.” The constable said, heading over to Thursday.  
“Another what?” Thursday said, uninterested as he took the proffered note.  
“Murder, sir.” The constable said. This caught Thursday’s attention. He opened up the note and inspected it closely. “Body’s been found in Turl Street. Suspected mugging gone wrong.”   
“Right.” Thursday said. The constable nodded and left. Thursday stood for a moment tapping the note with his hand and then turned to Gently and Bacchus.   
“What don’t you take this one?” he asked. Gently seemed surprised.  
“Sorry?” he said.  
“Well, you can see we’ve got our hands full at the moment.” Thursday said. “We could do with the help.”  
“Give you a chance to show us what you’ve learnt.” Jakes said. This earned him a look of displeasure from Gently and a glare from Bacchus. Gently had no intention of taking the Inspector’s offer and was about to decline when he happened to glance at his sergeant and noticed Bacchus’ angered expression. What Jakes had said had obviously struck a nerve with him and he clearly wanted the chance to put the upstart sergeant in his place.  
“Alright.” Gently said, taking the proffered note from Thursday, “Where is it?”  
“Turl Street.” Thursday repeated, “Ask the constable to give you directions.” And he turned his attention back to the body.

Gently and Bacchus headed out of the building.  
“Cheeky little sod.” Bacchus muttered. “If we were on our own turf, I’d have decked him.”  
“If we were on our own turf, I might have let you.” Gently replied with a smile, glancing down at the note before tucking it into his pocket “But let’s get this other murder sorted out so we can show them just what clever boys we really are.”   
The constable was surprised but happy to give them directions and a short time later they found themselves in a side street off one of Oxford’s main thoroughfares staring down at the body of a middle-aged man lying face down with the bloodstain from a gunshot wound splayed across his back.  
“Not a pretty sight, is it, guv?” Bacchus observed.  
“Well, I doubt he was worried about how his corpse would look to passing spectators.” Gently replied, “Or cocky sergeants.” He turned to a nearby constable.   
“Any idea who he is?”  
“We found this wallet a short distance away, sir.” The constable replied as Bacchus crouched down to inspect the victim more closely,   
“ID matches.” Gently said, “According to this he’s a Mr Andrew Franks – a retired schoolteacher.” Gently took a closer look at the wallet from the constable - inspecting the contents.  
“No money.” He observed. He paused to look down at Bacchus and the body. “Once Dr De Bryn’s finished over at the offices, make sure he comes over here to give this one a good going over.” The constable nodded and moved away to relay the instruction.   
“Any witnesses?” Gently called out.  
“None so far.” The constable replied. Gently turned back to the body.  
“What do you reckon, guv?” Bacchus asked, looking up at his superior. “Do you think it’s a mugging gone wrong?”  
“Or does someone want us to think it’s a mugging.” Bacchus stood up  
“Why do you always assume everything’s something it’s not?”  
“Isn’t that the job?” Gently replied, smiling. They stood observing the body. “Let’s head back to the station.” Gently said, eventually, “Find out what we can about Mr. Franks – see if there’s anybody who would have wanted him dead.”

They arrived back to find the other officers huddled together around one of the desks reviewing their notes. Gently and Bacchus began to do the same.  
While Thursday and Morse were discussing their findings from Doctor Ashton’s office, Jakes sidled over to the visitors.  
“So how’d you get on?” he asked.   
“We managed.” Bacchus retorted.  
“Yeah?” Jakes said, seemingly amused by the perturbed tone in the sergeant’s voice. “Not too difficult for you, is it?”  
“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Gently replied, deciding that limiting John’s contribution to the conversation was probably the safest option for his career.  
“Oh, really?” Jakes said, “So you’ll have it all sewn up by teatime then, will you?”  
“Something like that.” Gently replied, keeping his gaze firmly on the papers in front of him.  
Jakes paused and looked over his shoulder back at Thursday and Morse but they were intently scrutinising the notes Morse had made at the scene. He turned back.  
“Care to make it interesting?” Gently turned his attention to the sergeant and raised his eyebrows. He was surprised by the sergeant’s gall. Bacchus moved round to stand beside him.  
“What’s the bet?” Bacchus asked. Gently seemed surprised by his response but then waited to hear the answer.  
“A tanner.” Bacchus snorted.  
“A tenner?” Gently repeated, smiling and pretending not to have heard. Jakes blanched momentarily and then recovered his composure. He nodded.  
“You’re on.” Gently said. Jakes made a triumphant gesture. Gently made to turn away.  
“Er…just one more thing.” Jakes said. He leaned forward, “Don’t mention it to the governor.” He indicated Thursday with his thumb. Gently and Bacchus both looked over Jakes’ shoulder at the inspector and then back at Jakes.  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Gently said.  
Jakes smiled and hurried back to the others. Gently and Bacchus both settled themselves against the desk.  
“Cheeky sod.” Gently said.  
“Flash git.” Said Bacchus.  
“Think it’s time to earn ourselves some money, John.” Gently said, looking at his sergeant. His sergeant smiled in agreement.

As Jakes neared the board, Thursday stood and put on his hat while Morse buttoned his coat.  
“Are we off, sir?” Jakes asked.  
“Weren’t you listening, sergeant?” Thursday asked. “Got to go to see Doctor Ashton’s husband - break the news. And find out where he was at the time of his wife’s death.”  
They made their way to the offices where Mr Ashton worked and once there headed over to the reception desk. A young pretty woman with chic blonde hair and immaculate make-up sat behind the desk sorting through files. Jakes brightened considerably when he saw her.  
“Can I help you?”   
“We’re here to see Mr Ashton.” Thursday replied.  
“Do you have an appointment?” In answer, Thursday held up his warrant card. The receptionist picked up her phone and dialled an extension number. A few moments later, a door opened and a young dark-haired man appeared; dressed impeccably in a smart blue suit. He smiled nervously when he saw the detectives.  
“Gentlemen.” He said, “I understand you want to see me.”  
“Yes, sir.” Thursday replied, “Would you mind if we go into your office?”   
“Can I ask what this is about?”  
“Probably best we take this somewhere private.” Thursday replied, ushering the man away from the reception desk.   
Once safely ensconced in Mr Ashton’s office, Thursday proceeded to break the news of his wife’s death; sparing him as many of the gory details as he could.  
“I’m very sorry.” He said, finally.  
“My God!” the widower said, sinking onto the sofa.   
“Have you any idea who might have wanted to hurt your wife?” Thursday asked, delicately.  
“Er, no – no-one.” Noel replied. “She was such a wonderful person - everybody loved her.”  
“Had you been married long, Mr Ashton?” Morse asked, spotting the wedding photo on a nearby shelf.  
“About 3 years.” Noel replied, dazedly. “We, er… were childhood sweethearts – ran into each other again about 5 years ago. Decided to give it a try.” He pulled a cigarette out of a pack in his pocket. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”  
“Terrible time.” Thursday said, as he held out a match for Noel to light his cigarette. “When was the last time you saw your wife?”   
“Er...” Noel replied, nervously, “That would be yesterday morning. I kissed her goodbye as I left for work.”  
“And,” Thursday continued, “Would you mind telling us just where you were at the time of your wife’s death?” Noel inhaled deeply.  
“I was out drinking with a friend.”  
“And the name of this friend?” Jakes asked, flipping open his notebook. Noel spotted this and looked in alarm first at Jakes and then at Thursday.  
“Surely you don’t think I’m a suspect?”  
“Oh, purely routine, sir.” Thursday replied, reassuringly. “Just so we can eliminate you from our enquiries.”  
“Of course.” Noel replied, not sounding convinced. “Er... my friend’s Ted Johnson.”  
“And where can we find him?”  
“He’ll be at work.” Noel replied, “I can get you his number if you like.”  
“Much obliged, sir.” Thursday replied, calmly.

They exited the office building and paused for a moment on the steps at the entrance.  
“So what now, guv?” Jakes asked.  
“We follow up that patient theory of yours.” Thursday said, “Morse!”  
“Sir.” Morse said, appearing beside him.  
“Take a look at Dr. Ashton’s diary - check out the names of her clients and see if any of them had any priors. Sergeant Jakes and I will go and check out Mr Ashton’s alibi.” Disappointed to be lumbered with the paperwork again, Morse nonetheless nodded respectfully and set off back to the station.

Over on the other side of town, Bacchus and Gently were interrogating a gang of kids who they’d learnt were known to hang around Turl Street in the evenings in the hope that they might have seen something. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to be getting very far.  
“You seriously expect us to believe you didn’t see anything?” Bacchus said, in disbelief.  
“Nah, man.” One of the kids said in mock bravado, “Once Rusty shows up – we take off. We don’t want none of that trouble.”  
“Rusty?” Gently repeated, interested, “Who’s Rusty?”

“Well, he checks out.” Thursday said as he and Jakes pushed their way back into CID.  
“More’s the pity.” Jakes said, glumly.  
“Sir?” Morse said, looking up from his papers. “Something wrong?”  
“Ashton’s mate.” Thursday said, “Swears blind he was with him all evening in The Crown.”  
“Very convenient.” Jakes said. Thursday looked at him.  
“It’s not convenient if it’s the truth, sergeant.” He said. “What about you, Morse?” He turned to the constable, “Got anything.”  
“I think so.”   
“You think so?” Thursday repeated. “Well, either you do or you don’t, Morse. Which is it?”  
“No - I do.” Morse said, getting up and taking a sheet of paper over to the inspector. He handed it to him and Thursday found himself staring down at the criminal record of a man with short greying hair, a squashed piggy nose and dark, angry eyes set into a square-shaped head. “Ross Hall.” Morse said, “Arrested twice for GBH. Never convicted of anything. He and his wife were seeing Dr Ashton for marriage counselling and to deal with his anger management issues. Their last appointment was on the day that Dr Ashton died.” Thursday nodded in understanding, “And what does, Mr. Hall do for a living?” he asked.

The blade of the cleaver slammed through the meat and into the chopping board below. The three detectives stood in the doorway and watched as Mr. Hall made his way rhythmically along the slab – thunk, thunk, thunk. Then Thursday stepped forward.  
“Mr. Hall?” Mr. Hall paused in his work and looked up.  
“Yeah.” He said. Thursday drew out his warrant card and showed it to him.  
“DI Thursday – Oxford City Police. Mind if we ask you a few questions?”  
“Be my guest.” Hall said, resuming his methodical chopping of the meat.  
“Would you mind putting that down?” Jakes asked, indicating the cleaver. Hall looked at him and paused. Then, when he heard no objection from Thursday, put the blade down and began wiping his hands on his apron.  
“Can we make this quick?” he asked, “Some of us have a business to run.”  
“Of course.” Thursday said, agreeably, “Do you know a Doctor Colette Ashton?”  
“The Doc?” Hall replied, “Yeah, sure – I know her. Why?”  
“She’s dead.” Hall seemed visibly shaken but appeared to recover quickly.  
“Aw.” He said, “That’s too bad. How’d it happen?”  
“She was murdered.” Hall was stunned.  
“Murdered?” he repeated.  
“Shot.” Morse added, “At close range.”  
“Jeez.” Jakes drew out his notebook.  
“Where were you at 11pm yesterday evening?” he asked. Mr Hall paused as the implication of this question sunk in and then looked wildly from one to the other.  
“Now wait a minute!” he said, “I didn’t kill her. Why would I? I had no reason to. Ok - so she might have agreed with the bullshit my wife was coming out with more than I thought she should. But I liked her. She was helping me to understand all that crap. Now what am I going to do?”   
“So you’re saying you had no reason to kill her?”  
“No!” Hall exclaimed, “Of course not! I’d never do a thing like that – not to the Doc.”  
“But you do have a history of violence.” Jakes interjected. “And you and your wife were booked in to see Doctor Ashton on the day she died.”  
“Oh, I see.” Hall replied, bitterly, “Once a con, always a con, huh? Well, let me tell you this – if you’re looking for someone who had a beef with the Doc, I’d suggest taking a look at whoever it was had the appointment before mine.”  
“And why’s that?” Thursday asked.  
“Because,” Hall replied, “They’re the ones who clearly had something against Dr. Ashton. It was getting really heated in there – the two of them were having a right set to. Me and the wife were outside listening – we were waiting for the furniture to start flying.” The detectives exchanged glances. “If you ask me,” Hall said, seizing on their uncertainty, “they’re the ones who are much more likely to have something to do with the Doc’s death. They’re the ones you should be looking to interrogate. And leave us innocent, law-abiding citizens alone.” He could tell he had gone too far with this last comment as the attention of all three detectives turned back towards him. He squared his shoulders in defiance of their suspicious glances.  
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hall.” Thursday said, eventually, turning and leaving the room - closely followed by Jakes and Morse.

Once outside they inhaled deeply to get the thick smell of the meat out of their lungs.  
“So who had the slot before Mr. Hall?” Thursday asked.  
“No idea.” Jakes replied, unhelpfully. Thursday looked at him, unimpressed.  
“Well, let’s go and find out.” Thursday said.

Back at the station they headed over to the desk where Jakes pulled out the black leather A5 diary that had been recovered from Doctor Ashton’s office, laid it in on the desk in front of them and began flicking through it. As he did so, there was a noise from outside the office and he and Thursday looked up to see Bacchus and Gently escorting a tall, brutish sort of man into the station. He towered over the two detectives. His long ginger hair matted into the trails of his moustache. His arms bulged from the ripped-off sleeves of his denim jacket – both covered in various works of art professing the wearers love for his bike or his mother. And from underneath the soiled cuffs of his jeans peeked heavy-duty black leather boots.   
Bacchus spotted his interested audience and broke away to head towards the intrigued party.  
“Alright, boys?” he said. “Sir.” He added, seeing Thursday.  
“What gives?” Jakes asked. Bacchus looked back at the new arrival.  
“Just brought in our new suspect.” he said. “He’s the guy all the local kids were telling us about. Likes to hang around Turl Street late at night – where he does his business. And it gets better,” he went on, “‘Cause we just happened to find a nice, big gun on him when we picked him up.”  
“So he’s your killer?” Thursday asked.  
“That’s what we’re just about to find out.” Bacchus said, and he headed back after Gently and the prisoner. Jakes glanced at Thursday. Morse, however, hadn’t taken his eyes off the diary.  
“Hiram Evans.” He said, suddenly, pointing to the name in the book. Thursday and Jakes turned back and bent their heads to look.  
“Well,” Thursday said, reading the entry. “Let’s see what Mr. Evans has got to say for himself.”

Mr Evans, it transpired, was not at his place of work. Instead they found him at his local GPs office; huddled in a chair.  
“Mr. Evans?” Thursday said. The little man looked up. “Mind if we have a word?”  
“Well, um…” Hiram Evans said, “No…It’s just you lose your place if you’re not here when they call.”  
“This won’t take a minute.” Thursday said, and he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Mr. Evans didn’t seem reassured. Hiram looked from one to the other.  
“Fine!” he said, eventually, “What do you want to know?”  
“You’ve had an appointment with Dr. Ashton every week for the past eight months. Always the same time and day each week?”  
“That’s right.”  
“And you’ve never missed an appointment?”  
“Never.”  
“In that case” Thursday said, “Would you mind telling us what you and Dr Ashton were arguing about?”  
“Arguing?” Evans repeated, confused, “We never argued.”  
“We spoke to the person who had the appointment after you yesterday.” Morse said, “He said he overheard Dr. Ashton having a blazing row with whoever had the slot before him.”  
“No!” Evans said, earnestly. “No – that wasn’t me.”  
“What do you mean?” Thursday asked.   
“I mean that wasn’t mean arguing with her.” Evans explained.  
“But you had the appointment slot for that time.” Jakes said, “And you just said you never missed an appointment…”  
“I was mistaken.” Evans said. “I didn’t go to my appointment yesterday. I had a panic attack at work so I cancelled my appointment. It was a very last minute thing.”  
“How did Doctor Ashton take that?” Thursday asked.  
“She was fine with it.” Evans replied, “She said she’d use the opportunity to catch up with her husband. She said she was going to have lunch with him.”   
“Her husband?” Morse repeated.   
“Yes!” Evans replied. Thursday and Jakes exchanged glances. “Now are we done?”  
“Hiram Evans.” Called the nurse.  
“That’s me!” Mr. Evans said, springing up from his seat. They watched him go.  
“So she was yelling at her husband.” Jakes said.  
“Funny he never mentioned it.” Morse observed.   
“I think we need to have another little chat with Mr. Ashton.” Thursday said.  
He called in for uniform to collect Mr. Ashton from his place of work and bring him to the station.

They arrived back soon after.  
“So where’s Mr. Ashton?” Thursday asked Strange.  
“Tried his office, sir.” Strange replied, “Apparently he’s in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.”  
“What do you mean he can’t be disturbed?” Jakes asked in disgust. “This is a murder investigation.”  
“And all we’ve got at the moment is speculation.” Thursday said, “If we want to pull him out of a business meeting we’re going to need to have a lot more than that.”  
“So what do we do now, sir?” Morse asked.  
“Well, we’re certainly not going to stand around waiting for him.” Thursday replied. “Let’s look a little deeper into our Mr Ashton – see if we can establish just why he might have been having an argument with his nearest and dearest.” His underlings dispersed.

Thursday patted down the contents of his pipe and began searching his pockets for a match. Thwarted, he turned to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers. As he did so, his attention was momentarily caught by the sight of Jakes standing just along the corridor outside the office talking to two other officers. He presumed his sergeant was gathering intelligence and was about to resume his hunt for a match when he saw two crisp notes being exchanged between them. His expression darkened and he headed over to the door.  
“Sergeant Jakes.” Jakes jumped and whirled round. “Could I have a word?” Jakes visibly paled and, after a quick glance back at his companions, followed the inspector into his office.  
“Close the door.” Thursday said. Jakes obliged. Thursday turned to face him, leaning back nonchalantly on the desk.  
“Not boring you, are we, Sergeant?” Thursday asked innocently. “I mean I’d hate to think we’re letting your superlative talents go to waste.”  
“No, sir.” Jakes replied, “No, not at all. I’m… um… thoroughly involved with all aspects of the case”  
“Oh, good.” Thursday replied “Because it seems to me you’re still managing to find time for outside interests.”  
Jakes swallowed nervously.  
“Sir!” Morse said, hurrying into the room, clutching his notebook.  
“Not now, Morse.” Thursday said.  
“It’s about Mr Ashton, sir.” Morse said. Thursday sighed.  
“Go on then.” He said.  
“I just spoke with a representative at White Knight Insurance. Apparently Mr. Ashton recently took out a policy on his wife to the value of three thousand pounds.” Thursday looked shocked.   
“I’d say that’s a good enough reason to interrupt his meeting.” Jakes said. Thursday’s gaze shifted to his sergeant. He paused. Then his hand went into his pocket and he pulled out a note which he palmed to the sergeant.  
“Put down a pound on us.” He said and headed out of the office followed by first Jakes and then by a bemused Morse.

As they headed back into the station with Ashton, Gently and Bacchus appeared – both looking particularly cheesed off.  
“Something wrong, gents?” Jakes asked, as he passed Noel to the custody sergeant, trying and failing to hide his delight at their obvious displeasure. There was silence as Bacchus glared malevolently at him.  
“The bullet that killed Andrew Franks doesn’t match the gun we found on our suspect.” Gently admitted. “It seems that bullet came from a small calibre weapon and not like the one we found on Mr Rusty”  
“Oh dear.” Jakes said, not sounding in the least bit sorry. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a real suspect to interview.” Thursday’s expression showed disapproval for his sergeant’s comments but he made no attempt to reprimand him and instead waited for him to join him at the door of the interview room. Jakes turned back to the others. “Make sure you’ve got your wallets handy.”  
“Thank you, sergeant.” Thursday said, pointedly.

Once inside, they settled themselves into the seats opposite their suspect.  
“Hello again, Mr Ashton.” Thursday said, amicably.  
“What’s this all about?” Noel asked irritably, “I hope you realise I was in the middle of a very important meeting when you turned up. You could well have scuppered that whole deal for me.”  
“We’re very sorry about that, Mr. Ashton,” Thursday replied, not sounding sorry at all. “We just wanted to talk to you about where you were at the time of your wife’s death.”  
“I told you were I was.”   
“Indeed you did,” Thursday replied, “And your trusty friend, Ted, was only to happy to back you up. He didn’t seem to know about the insurance policy though.” Noel’s head jerked up.  
“Why should he?” he snapped, “That’s a private affair between me and my wife – nothing to do with him.”  
“It’s also motive.” Jakes observed.  
“Motive?” Noel repeated, “For pity’s sake. You don’t still think I killed my wife?”  
“Why should we not?”  
“Because,” Noel said, sounding frustrated, “I was nowhere near her when she died – I was out drinking with Ted. We stayed out ‘til the small hours.”  
“That doesn’t mean much, sir.” Thursday replied, “You could easily have slipped away, killed your wife and made it back to the pub in time for last orders.”  
“No, I couldn’t” Noel replied.  
“And why’s that?” Noel shifted slightly in his seat.  
“Because,” he began, “at the time of my wife’s death, I wasn’t in the pub – I was safely ensconced in one of your charming little cells.” Bacchus, eavesdropping outside, seemed to start at this. Gently turned to him.  
“John?” he said, “What is it?” Bacchus turned to look at his superior but said nothing as he headed past him. An intrigued Gently followed.  
Back in the interview room, Thursday struggled to keep control of the situation. “Would you care to elaborate?” he asked. Noel sighed.  
“Ted and I,” he began, “we…erm…we got a bit carried away.” He looked up nervously at the two detectives, “Nothing too serious you understand but still enough to warrant a call to your cop shop. Two constables turned up and arrested both of us on the spot for being drunk and disorderly.”   
Thursday leaned back to hide his surprise at this new information. He sat observing Noel.  
“Alright.” He said, eventually, “But we’ll be checking on that.”  
“Be my guest.” Noel replied, waving a hand in the air to demonstrate his lack of concern.

Thursday and Jakes emerged from the interview; Jakes roughly shoving Ashton towards the custody sergeant. Thursday paused as he noticed both Gently and Bacchus stood side by side smiling smugly at them. Bacchus was holding a brown file in his hand.   
“Can we help you, gentlemen?” Thursday asked.  
“Go well in there, did it?” Bacchus asked, directing his comments towards Jakes, not wanting to appear disrespectful towards Thursday, “Get him to talk? Did he spill his guts?”  
“Oh, I bet he sang like a canary.” Gently said, still smiling. Thursday looked from one to the other.  
“Something you’d like to share with the class?” he asked. In answer, Bacchus handed over the file he was holding. Thursday took it.  
“What’s this?” Thursday asked, opening and flicking through it.  
“That,” said Gently, “Is the arrest record for one Mr. Noel Ashton showing that at the time of his wife’s murder, he was, as he said, safely tucked up in one of your cosy Oxford police cells.” Thursday flipped the folder open and read, as did Jakes with Morse peering over the edge. Thursday then passed the file to Jakes to confirm for himself that what they were saying was true. It was. Jakes looked up at them.   
“Yeah, well.” He said, obstinately, “There’s no reason to go acting so smug. It’s not like you’re doing any better.”  
As if on cue, the doors behind them swung open and they turned to see PC Strange escorting a young man into the station.  
“Who’s that?” Jakes asked, as the man was led into the interview room they had just vacated.  
“That,” Gently said, “is Carl Spencer - Andrew Franks’ son-in-law. Apparently he’d a habit of treating his wife’s father as his own personal piggy bank but from what we hear – none of the money he borrowed was ever paid back.”  
“Plus he and his wife stand to inherit in the event of Mr. Franks’ death,” Bacchus added, “So, if anything were to happen to Mr. Franks, it would all work out nicely for Mr. Spencer”  
Thursday and Jakes watched as, still smiling smugly, Bacchus followed his inspector into the interview room to interrogate their suspect. 

“Hello, Carl.” Bacchus began, cheerfully, “How are you doing?” Carl wasn’t fooled by the mock sympathy.  
“I’d be doing a lot better if you hadn’t dragged me in here.” He replied.  
“Sorry, Carl.” Gently said, “Can’t be helped – we have a few questions we’d like to ask you. About your father-in-law’s death.” Carl wasn’t impressed.  
“I already told you.” He said, “I spoke to that policeman who came to tell my wife about her father’s death.”  
“Yes.” Gently said, “But you conveniently left a few details out.” He paused, “Like the state of your bank balance.”   
“Or how your father-in-law had a tendency to bail you out when you got into tight corners.”  
“Or how you and your wife just happen to be the sole beneficiaries of his will.”  
“That’s not that unusual.” Carl replied, “She’s his only living relative – why shouldn’t he leave everything to us?”  
“Be ever so convenient if something happened to him though.” Gently said. Carl turned to him.  
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting!” he snapped.  
“I don’t like what I’m investigating.” Gently replied, “But that’s just my lot in life.”  
“Look.” Carl said, annoyed, “I may have benefited from my father-in-law’s death - I’ll admit that - but I didn’t kill him.”  
“That a fact?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So why don’t you tell us what you were doing at the time of Mr Franks death?” Gently said.  
“Gladly.” Carl replied

From outside, they could see the confident expressions on the faces of the two policemen slowly fading. Eventually they emerged back into the office – Bacchus painstakingly avoiding their gaze.  
“So how’s it going?” Jakes asked, his turn to smile smugly at Bacchus. Bacchus glared at him and said nothing. He picked up a nearby file and buried his nose in it - feigning intense interest in its contents.  
“It seems that at the time of his father-in-law’s death.” Gently explained, “Mr Spencer was at a party being held by his cousin and his family – with about 50 witnesses to prove he wasn’t anywhere near Turl Street.”  
“It looks like we’re both having as much luck as each other.” Thursday said, moving round in front of his desk to stare at the board where the details of Doctor Ashton’s murder had been arranged. He was joined by Inspector Gently. “Think it’s safe to say Noel Ashton’s responsible for his wife’s death.”  
“And Carl for his father-in-law’s.” Gently added, looking across at his own board.  
“The only problem is,” Thursday continued, “There’s no way either of them could have done it!” They paused to consider their predicament.  
“Maybe we’d getting on better with your case.” Jakes said to Bacchus, smiling. A strange look came over Morse’s face - one that Thursday knew well.  
“Morse?” he asked. Morse didn’t respond. Slowly, he got up and made his way over to the board Gently and Bacchus had compiled on their case. He reached up and pulled the photo of Carl Spencer down from under the heading ‘Suspect’  
“Oi!” Gently said, “Sabotage is against the rules.” Morse ignored him. Photo in hand, he headed back over to their own board and reached up to remove the photo of Noel Ashton. By now, Thursday had cottoned on to what Morse was up to but watched with interest as Morse replaced the picture of Noel with the one of Carl he’d taken from Gently’s side.  
He then headed back over to Gently’s board and replaced the photo of Carl with the one of Noel he’d just acquired. Thursday and Jakes moved forward to inspect the change while Gently and Bacchus did the same.  
“Could it really be that simple?” Gently asked.  
“Does it fit?” Thursday asked.  
“Let’s see.” Morse said, What time did the Doc reckon Franks was killed?”  
“Around 7pm” Gently replied. Morse’s finger ran along the timeline they’d constructed of Noel’s movements as Thursday and Jakes watched. He came across a blank space at the time of the murder.  
“Nothing.” He said. “Ashton didn’t arrive at the pub until gone 8” Jakes smiled. Morse turned back to the others. “What about the time of Colette’s death - 11pm.” Bacchus and Gently inspected their board.  
“Nothing.” Gently replied. “Carl left the party at around half 10.” He paused, “He didn’t get home until gone midnight.” Morse spun round to face Thursday.  
“We’ve got it!” Thursday was less enthusiastic.  
“It’s a pretty story, Morse.” He said, “But that’s all it is – a story.”  
“Yeah.” Jakes said, “Without any evidence, how do we prove Spencer and Ashton event knew each other. There’s nothing to suggest any connection between the crimes.”  
“Unless we can find something to link the two,” Gently said, “we’re sunk.”  
At that point the door opened and Strange entered.  
“Sir.” He said, “Call from Dr. De Bryn – he says can you make your way over to him – he’s got something he’d like to show you.” He turned to look at Gently and Bacchus. “You as well.” Gently and Bacchus exchanged glances.   
“Us as well?” Gently said, disbelieving.  
“That’s what the Doc said.” Strange replied. Gently and Bacchus exchanged glances.  
“In that case,” Thursday said, pulling on his coat, “We’d better get going.”

Thursday pushed his way into the examination room; followed by the others.  
“So what’s this all about, Doc?” he asked.  
“I think your cases may be connected.” Dr De Bryn said.  
“Funny that.” Thursday replied, turning to glance at Morse “We were just coming to the same conclusion.”  
“What makes you say that?” Jakes interjected  
“Your murder victims share a common component.” De Bryn explained. “Traces of the same chlorine compound were found on both bodies.”  
“Chlorine compound?” Bacchus repeated.  
“Water.” The doctor explained, “The same water to be precise. It’s likely that both your victims – or, more likely, both your killers given the minute trace amounts – came into contact with the same body of water.”  
“But where would you find chlorinated water?” Gently asked.  
“There was a fish tank in the doctor’s office.” Jakes said.  
“That doesn’t explain how the water was on both victims though, does it?” Thursday replied. “Was Carl a patient of Dr Ashton’s?”  
“Not that we’ve found.” Morse replied; his hands buried deep in his pockets. Thursday considered this.  
“Thanks, Doc.” He said, turning and leaving the room; followed soon after by Jakes and Morse and eventually by Gently and Bacchus.

They arrived back at the station and Thursday removed his coat and hat, placing them resolutely on the coat stand, and moved round behind the desk on which was spread various papers relating to their case.  
“Right.” He said, “Time we combine our efforts. There’s got to be a similarity, if not a connection, between our two suspects which explains how both victims ended up with the same traces of chlorine on them and we need to find out what it is.” They set to work examining the pile of papers that occupied both their desks. All of them scrutinising each and every page in front of them – trying to find a link between Carl Spencer and Noel Ashton. Several hours later they paused to see what they’d found.  
“Anything?” Thursday asked.  
“Nothing.” Gently replied. “They worked for different companies, moved in different circles…   
“It doesn’t seem like their paths ever crossed.” Bacchus said, “Or had any reason to.” Thursday sighed.  
“All right.” Gently said. “Let’s do this methodically - go over their schedules. Start with Mr Ashton.”  
Jakes headed over to their board with its chalked out timeline and pointed to the first entry, “Daily routine was to wake up at 7am.” He said, “He’d shower and shave. And then head off to the public baths for an hour’s exercise…”  
“That’s it.” Morse said.  
“What is?” Bacchus asked.   
“The baths.” Morse replied. “What was Mr Franks doing that morning?” Gently flipped open Carl’s diary.  
“8am Swim.” He said, looking up in realisation.  
“That’s the connection!” Morse said to Thursday. Thursday looked thoughtful.  
“How can we be sure that both these men use the swimming baths on a regular basis?” he asked.  
“Should be easy enough to find out.” Morse said, “Ask the receptionist at the pool. If they’re regulars then they’re bound to know them.” Thursday picked up his coat and with a quick look at Jakes headed out of the station accompanied by his sergeant.

Morse turned to look as Thursday and Jakes arrived back accompanying Noel into the station and headed towards an interview room; followed shortly afterwards by Gently and Bacchus escorting Carl. Thursday turned to look at Morse.  
“You coming?” he asked. Morse smiled and followed the inspector inside.  
As he closed the door of the interview room, he saw Gently and Bacchus escorting Carl into another.

“Well,” Thursday said, placing a case file in front of him as Jakes seated Noel on the other side of the table, “Here we are again.” Noel said nothing. “The only difference is,” Thursday continued, “This time we know you did it.”   
Noel snorted as if to show derision but he didn’t seem confident in his statement. Thursday paused and sat back in his chair.   
“You must have thought you were very clever.” He said, “You and Mr Spencer. Plotting your little scheme. It all must have seemed very convenient – Carl gets his father-in-law’s inheritance and you get rid of your wife without all that messy divorce business. And when all this is over you even come out of it with a nice little bonus. A nice three thousand pound bonus.” He added in a more sombre tone.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Noel replied  
“No, of course you don’t.” Thursday replied. He leaned forward. “Listen, Noel,” he said, conspiratorially, “We both know it wasn’t you who came up with the idea. Why not make this easier on yourself? If you come clean and tell us all about it, it can only work in your favour. If you plead guilty, I’ll even put in a good word with the judge.” Noel paused, appearing to consider this. Then,  
“Can’t help you.” He replied. Thursday leaned back.  
“Are you sure about that, Noel?” he asked.  
“Positive.” Noel replied.  
“You’re willing to go to prison – possibly for life – all for the sake of some stranger you met at the public baths?” Noel seemed shaken by Thursday’s knowledge of his habits but remained calm.  
“I’m not saying anything.” He replied.   
The door to the interview room suddenly opened and Bacchus and Gently appeared in the doorway, self-satisfied grins on their faces.  
“What’s up with you?” Jakes asked.  
“We won.” Bacchus said  
“What?” Jakes said.  
“We won.” Gently repeated. “Carl just coughed – pins the blame squarely on young Noel here.” Noel seemed alarmed to hear this.  
“Well, that settles that.” Thursday said, making to pick up the file from the table.  
“Now wait a minute!” he said. Thursday turned back to him.  
“Yes, Mr. Ashton.” He said. Noel hesitated. He glanced up at Gently and Bacchus’ smug smiles and then at Thursday’s expectant expression. There was a pause as he quickly weighed his options.  
“It was all Carl’s idea!” He said, “I didn’t want anything to do with it at first but he assured me it would solve all our problems. He said that if we each took the other’s murder then no-one would ever find out because nobody would be smart enough to put two and two together.”  
“He didn’t reckon on the brains of Supercop.” Jakes said. Morse smiled to himself.  
“So,” Thursday said, “How about you tell us just how it all happened?” 

Thursday, Jakes and Morse exited the interview room and watched as the custody sergeant escorted Noel back to the cells. Gently and Bacchus stood waiting for them, smiling contentedly.  
“Ok.” Bacchus said as the other made their way over to them, “Confession time.” Jakes looked confused.  
“What do you mean?” he said. Gently looked at him.  
“Our man never coughed.” Gently said, “We just said that to make sure yours did. It was clear he thought was safe just so long as your man kept his mouth shut.”  
“Aye, that’s right.” Bacchus said, “It was obvious your man was the weak link in the chain and once he cracked….” Gently snapped his fingers.  
“Bit of a risk, though, wasn’t it?” Thursday asked.  
“Worked though, didn’t it?” Bacchus retorted. There was a pause.  
“So…” Morse said, “Who won the bet?”  
“Well, obviously it was us.” Jakes replied.  
“How’d you figure that one out?” Bacchus asked.  
“Our man was the first to crack.” Thursday said, “Ergo, we win.”  
“Yeah,” Gently said, “But he wouldn’t have cracked if we hadn’t softened him up for you.”  
“What are you saying?” Jakes asked.  
“We’re saying,” Bacchus interjected, “We’re the reason you got a confession. That means we win.”  
“Cobblers.” Thursday replied. Before Gently or Bacchus could retort, the door to the department opened and Supt Bright entered.  
“Ah!” he said, spotting the four of them and heading over to them. “I hear congratulations are in order – a fine result.”  
“Thank you, sir.” Said Thursday and Gently together.  
“Well,” Bright said, “I hope this goes to show just what can achieved through good old-fashioned teamwork and co-operation.” The detectives looked at each other.  
“Well, actually, sir.” Gently said, “There is one thing I can say I’ve learnt.”  
“And what’s that, Inspector Gently?”  
“It’s that when there’s a murder wants solving, you’d be a fool to bet against anyone on this team.” He smiled across at their counterparts and, after a pause, Thursday smiled back.  
“Very well said.” Bright said. “I’m glad you’ve found the experience useful.”  
“Oh, yes, sir.” Thursday said, “Most enlightening.”  
“Very illuminating.” Gently added.  
“Almost fluorescent.” Jakes said. Bright seemed slightly taken aback by this last remark.  
“Excellent.” He said, eventually, “Well, good. Carry on.”  
“Sir.” Thursday said.  
“Sir.” Gently replied as Bright left the room and the door closed slowly behind him. He paused and then held out his hand to Thursday. Thursday, in turn, paused before taking and shaking it. Jakes and Bacchus didn’t seem to know whether to be pleased or disappointed and Morse idly wondered when they could get on with the next case.


End file.
